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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Something Wild Inside

Something is with me,
and something leaves me,
and it perhaps is my soul,
or my twin self,
or the space between waves,
the pause in a rhythm,
but it comes and goes,
and like a wild thing,
refuses to be caught.
And if I catch it,
it would die,
so I don’t build bars for it,
or a hidden snare,
for being wild it would leave forever,
with the dust that has blown away,
or the wing that is part of the wind.

So I behave myself,
and go to the passage
where there are no ships, no roads.
It is a harbor without piers or people,
or cottages,
or smoke in the winter.
It is the silent horizon
off the beach,
the sand where only crabs make a mark,
and trees keep their distance.
Where I am permitted,
even welcomed if I touch nothing,
if I receive the world as it secretly is,
full of passion and dark feeling.
And words,
which share the fragile sound
of a deeper light,
and freedom,
which truly needs to be free.

It belongs to me,
if I dare not to possess it.
It holds me if I let it go.
It speaks to me if I don’t interrupt.
It is wild,
and like all wild things
it comes to the shore,
to drink peace,
to listen and look,
and if I am very quiet,
permits me to touch it.

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